Knotted By Her Alpha Bosses

Chapter 1

One

ANYA

“Oh god,” I say as I stare at another job listing to work at a life-sucking call center. It’s late at night, and my wrist is tired from holding my phone.

But I’m desperate to find something. I really need to help out my friend and roommate, John.

The thought circles my mind for the hundredth time today as I lie sprawled on John’s threadbare couch, the springs digging into my back painfully. The dim light from my phone screen illuminates my face in the dark apartment.

I clutch the worn blanket, trying to ignore the cold. Three months jobless, living on John’s couch, and feeling like a failure.

The apartment smells like stale pizza and socks. A fitting aroma for my life right now. I scroll mindlessly through job listings, each one more depressing than the last.

My thumb pauses mid-swipe as a notification pops up. Probably another rejection email from that bookstore I applied to last week. I tap it open without much hope, only to see it’s just my phone telling me I’m down to fifteen percent battery. Great.

I sigh and roll onto my side, careful not to disturb the couch’s most aggressive spring that’s right below my hip.

The blanket slips off one shoulder, exposing my skin to the apartment’s persistent chill.

My friend, John, keeps the thermostat at sixty-two degrees to save on bills, which I can hardly complain about since I’m not contributing a dime.

Three months ago, I had a job at a local coffee shop.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid enough to rent a room in a shared apartment.

Then the place closed down without notice, the owner skipping town with everyone’s final paychecks.

Since then, it’s been a parade of one-day gigs and dead ends.

A weekend helping someone move. Three days of filing paperwork for an accountant who decided she didn’t need the help after all.

A week dog-sitting for a couple who paid me half of what they promised.

Now I’m broke. Laundry two days ago took my last five dollars.

I need money.

I continue scrolling, my eyes growing heavy with each swipe. Then suddenly, I see the perfect job:

Private island resort hiring live-in staff. Immediate start.

Wait, this looks fun…

I sit up so fast that the ancient couch groans in protest. The listing is sparse on details but mentions full room and board plus a competitive salary. The location is simply listed as “Wolf Isle Resort.”

My heart pounds as I read it again. Live-in staff. Immediate start. Room and board. It sounds too good to be true. But what do I have to lose at this point?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I quickly tap the ‘contact employer’ button. It provides a phone number rather than an email address.

I type out a text with shaking fingers:

“Hello, I’m interested in the live-in staff position advertised. My name is Anya Rosewood, and I have experience in customer service and hospitality. I’m available to start immediately.”

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then drop my phone on my chest, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. They probably won’t even respond.

My phone buzzes against my sternum, making me jump. No way. It’s been less than a minute. I quickly pick up my phone and open the message eagerly:

“Hello, Anya. Thank you for your interest. The position involves housekeeping, meal prep assistance, and general resort maintenance. Pay is $3000/month plus room and board. We have flights available this week if you’re interested. All expenses covered for travel.”

My breath catches in my throat. Three thousand a month? Plus, no rent or food costs? What the hell?! This would be the best-paying job I’d ever apply to. I type back immediately:

“I’m definitely interested. What documentation do you need from me? When could I start?”

The response comes back just as quickly:

“We require basic ID and work eligibility verification. We have a flight available tomorrow afternoon at 2 PM if that works for you. A private helicopter will transport you from the mainland to the island.”

A helicopter? My heart races. This can’t be real. Things like this don’t happen to people like me.

“Tomorrow would be perfect. Thank you for this opportunity.”

“Excellent. Please arrive at Coastal Heliport by 1:30 PM. Bring ID and any personal items that you may need. We provide uniforms and necessities. Address: 4500 Harbor Way, Pier 12. Ask for Wolf Isle transport.”

I’m sitting fully upright now, clutching my phone like a lifeline. I have to resist the urge to squeal.

A job. A place to live. An escape.

Just as I’m about to respond with my confirmation, I hear keys jangling outside the apartment door. A moment later, John stumbles in, his lanky frame silhouetted against the hallway light before he kicks the door shut behind him.

“Hey, Anya,” he grunts, tossing his keys onto the coffee table with a clatter.

He drops onto the opposite end of the couch, making the whole thing dip precariously.

His brown hair hangs in stringy strands around his face, and the tattoos covering both arms seem to shift in the dim light as he twists open a bottle of beer.

“John! Oh my god, you’re here!”

“You look like you just won the lottery or something,” he says with a scowl, taking a long swig from the bottle. “What’s up? Why are you so excited?”

I can barely contain my excitement, bouncing slightly on the couch. “I found a job! Like, a real job with actual pay and housing included.”

John raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah? Doing what?”

“It’s at a private island resort. Live-in staff position. They pay three thousand a month plus room and board, and they’re even covering my travel expenses,” I say, thrusting my phone toward him, showing him the text exchange. “Look! They want me to start tomorrow.”

He squints at my phone screen, the bottle paused halfway to his lips.

“Wolf Isle? Never heard of it.” He hands my phone back, his expression unchanged. “Sounds like a scam to me.”

“Why would it be a scam? They’re not asking me for money or anything,” I say, my excitement waning slightly.

“Anya, come on,” he sighs, running a tattooed hand through his hair. “Private island? Immediate hire with no real interview? Free transportation? That’s like the beginning of every horror movie ever.”

“Or it could just be that not many people want to live on an isolated island away from their families,” I counter, feeling defensive. “Some rich people probably bought an island and built a resort, and now they need staff.”

“And they’re willing to fly random people out there sight unseen?” John shakes his head. “Nah, something’s off about it.”

I clutch my phone tighter, the bubble of hope in my chest refusing to burst despite his skepticism. “Well, I’m going.”

“Seriously?” He turns to face me fully now, his brow furrowed. “You’re gonna just hop on a helicopter with strangers tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin. “What else is there for me? Stay on your couch forever? This could be my chance to actually save some money, to start over.”

John sighs, taking another swig of beer. “Look, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. I just don’t want you to get hurt or scammed or whatever.”

“I appreciate the concern,” I say, softening my tone. “But this feels right. After everything I’ve been through, maybe the universe is finally giving me a break.”

He snorts at that, but doesn’t argue further.

We sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant bass from the upstairs neighbor’s music and the perpetual drip of the kitchen faucet.

My heart is pounding with excitement at the opportunity, but I can’t help but let my mind drift to my family.

I don’t have a family.

My birth mom abandoned me when I was six. I remember coming home from school to find her gone, with just a hastily scribbled note for my father.

No explanation for me, no goodbye, just... gone.

My father’s zest for life collapsed after that. The light in his eyes dimmed. By the time he remarried two years later, he was just a shell, too empty to notice how his new wife treated me.

Sharon. She was always smiling sweetly when my father was around and the complete opposite when he wasn’t towards me. Her kids got new clothes, trips to amusement parks, and help with homework. I got yelled at constantly and got hand-me-downs.

“I don’t have time for you. Even your own mother left you. Useless girl,” Sharon would say in different ways when I would question why I wasn’t treated like her own.

I blink away the memory, realizing John is studying me. I hastily wipe my tears away.

“This place really that bad?” he asks, gesturing around his apartment.

I force a smile. “No, it’s not that. You’ve been amazing, letting me stay here. I just... I need to stand on my own two feet, you know? I need to make something of myself. I can’t rely on people.”

“You’re always welcome to stay with me. You know that, Anya.”

“I know.”

“Well,” John says finally. “If you’re really doing this, text me when you get there. And every day after that.”

I smile, genuinely touched by his concern.

“I promise. Daily updates,” I say, checking my phone again. As I get up from the couch, I’m already thinking about what my tasks would be at the resort and getting excited all over again.

The next day, I’m stuffing my clothes into my backpack, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and terror.

It’s not like I have much to pack. I only have a few t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, underwear, socks, and my toothbrush.

It’s pathetic how my entire life fits into one ratty backpack with a broken zipper that I have to hold closed with a safety pin.

“So, you’re really going through with this,” John says from the doorway of his tiny bathroom, where I’m gathering my toiletries next.

“Flight leaves in two hours,” I reply, carefully wrapping my dollar-store shampoo in a plastic bag so it won’t leak on my clothes. “I’ve already confirmed with them.”